Clarification
by wildegreenlight
Summary: At Shell Cottage both Ron and Hermione are too tired for pretense or misunderstandings.
1. Chapter 1

Every bit of her ached. There was a weird sensation deep in her joints; a strange mix of relief and pain. It reminded her of taking her hair down after it had been plaited too tightly for too long. She should probably move, but she just couldn't -not yet.

He was asleep, finally. The subtle rise and fall of his chest, the comforting wisps of his breath across the crown of her curls was proof. She was aware that neither the quantity nor quality of his rest had been sufficient. She was also aware, with equal parts joy and regret, that it was his worry for her that had been the cause of his wakefulness. He had held her like this all night, almost upright against the headboard with her head resting on his chest. There had not been even a moment's hesitation when he had taken her in his arms, she thought perhaps that they were both too tired to bother with pretense. She wept when he pulled her close; she hadn't properly realized just how thin he had gotten. He mistook her tears for him as an indication of her own physical pain.

 _"_ _Should I get Fleur? Do you need more potion?"_

 _"_ _No!" she had gripped him as tightly as her aching limbs would allow._

 _"_ _But you're hurting," his voice showed his own reluctance to leave._

 _"_ _I'm not...I mean, I am...but I...oh, Ron!"_

 _He had gently shushed her then, resting his cheek on the top of her freshly washed curls. She had wanted to tell him that she was sorry, sorry for so many things, but mostly for doubting him. Faith had never been her strong suit. She had to see to believe; she had to have proof. And even then, the belief was fragile._

 _He deserved better. This was a genuine thought, not the pettiness of a heartbroken school girl questioning her physical appeal. She wanted to be better, for him: more trusting, more forgiving. As she had lain in agony on that cold floor, the thing she regretted most was that she would never get the chance to tell him. That regret tethered her to consciousness, to life itself, miraculously giving her a second chance._

She had wanted to tell him, but she had been too full of exhaustion and potions to form coherent words. The rest of the night was a jumble of hazy, dreamlike memories. There were broken bits of a conversation between Ron and Bill. Fearing that his brother had come to make him leave, she had been relieved to find that apparently Fleur had only sent him to try and get Ron to eat.

 _"_ _Just come down and get a bite. She's asleep; you can be back for she even knows you're gone."_

 _"_ _If I can't do it from right here, 'm not doing it," his quietly forceful words had been a better balm than any of the spells and potions that Fleur had administered._

 _"_ _Well then Merlin help you both if you have to take a piss," Bill's laugh sounded much more like Ron's than Percy's or even the twins'._

 _"_ _Get outta here you git! If you wake her I'll hex your ponytail off," despite the threat there was humor in his voice, and then he chuckled at something else Bill said. She couldn't quite make out what it was but she was pretty sure it involved a broomstick being used in an unconventional manner._

He'd sung to her-or hummed-or maybe she'd dreamt the whole thing. His voice had been so warm and soft; she had felt it rumbling through his chest, her ear pressed so tightly against him that surely he would have a mark in the morning.

Everytime she had come to during the night, he had been awake. She could tell by the rhythm of his breathing, months of sleeping together in a tent- so close, yet so painfully far- had taught her well. So now that he was actually sleeping, she would not dream of waking him. And so what if that meant she got to feel his arms around her for a little longer? Didn't they both deserve at least that much?

Just yesterday she had fought so hard: to stay alive, to stay sane, to keep them safe. She had not been able to bear the thought of those being their last moments: separated, terrified, incomplete...but this…

It was horrible she knew, but there was a small part of her that reasoned that if she wasn't going to make it, she wouldn't mind her last moments being in bed with Ron Weasley. Her face flushed hotly at the thought. Maybe there were a few more things she wanted to experience before she left this world.

Ron took in a sharp breath and his grip tightened slightly on her shoulder. Hermione nuzzled in closer, placing her hand gently on his opposite arm.

"'Ermynee?"

"Hmmm?"

"You awake?"

"Um hmm."

"How you feeling?"

"A little sore, but I'm sure you have to be too. I didn't let you get very comfortable last night before I trapped you," she still hadn't moved to look at his face, afraid that if she did, the spell might be broken.

"Wasn't trapped...trapped means you wanna get away," he ran his hand gently up and down her arm, causing a delicious warmth to spread across her body.

She could scarcely breathe, the sincerity of his words made tears pool in the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, searching for the perfect reply. She needed him to know, but how could she possibly tell him...there was so much. If this were a scene in a novel, she thought wistfully, she might turn her face toward his, and he might tip her chin up to him as he leaned down kissing her with a gentle passion that would leave them both breathless.

If only it could be that simple. If only they could forget the world outside this tiny room, outside this cottage, but she knew that was not an option, for either of them. They had to see this through first. This was not a novel, at least not the kind where she could forget the rest of the world and think only of herself. But she could, she reasoned, enjoy this moment just a little longer.

"And here I thought you were just powerless to escape me," she sighed dramatically, risking a look at him by turning her head toward his.

Hearing his words had been one thing, but seeing his face, how would she ever resist that face again? The obvious fatigue was no match for the tenderness in his eyes, the faint but perfect grin dancing across his lovely mouth.

"Oh, I am. Used to scare me right shitless," his expression didn't change, but she could literally feel his heart speed up, matching the rhythm of her own.

"And now?" She really couldn't believe how calm her voice sounded.

"Now...well, as long as you're alright, not much else really frightens me, y'know what I mean?" as he was speaking he reached down and tucked a particularly unruly strand of hair behind her ear.

She nodded in agreement, once again marveling at Ron, _this Ron._ The Ron who was still at heart the boy who had belched slugs for her, and the boy who infuriated her, and the boy who had broken her heart. The miraculous thing was that somewhere along the way he had grown into a man. A man who comforted her at her most vulnerable moments, who did not shy away from her anger, who withstood the storm of her wrath for months, but who had still been willing to exchange his life for hers without a moment's hesitation. His words, his actions, his care for her were far greater, more intimate than any kiss.

As she began to pull herself up to better settle higher on his chest, his stomach made a loud grumble of protest.

"Sounds like we need to get you some breakfast."

"'M'fine really," the reluctance in his voice made her question her previous line of thought, what if this moment was all they were ever allowed? What if they were throwing away their only chance? She would not let herself believe that, could not. There would be a day, soon, when there were no more missions to compete, no more maniacs to defeat. Then they would be able to finish this, no, to start this, properly.

"I know you missed dinner last night because of me, I won't let you miss breakfast too."

"Is that so?"

"Entirely so! Besides, you are too thin for your own good. Your mum will never forgive me if I bring you back home in such a state."

He laughed then, a real laugh, something she hadn't heard in ages, and pulled her in closer. His voice now rustling her hair, "'Specially when she finds out where I slept."

If he were trying to embarrass her, two could play at that game, "Well, then, maybe you should go before I really compromise your virtue." _There, that will fix him!_

"Any virtue I've ever had is yours to compromise, any time you'd like," his voice did not shake, but it was huskier than it had been before, in a way that made her suddenly less inclined to go to breakfast or anywhere else for that matter.

He did kiss her then, tenderly, on the very top of her head, lingering for a moment before he made a move to sit them both up properly. Ron made sure she was stable before he rather stiffly got out of bed and stood stretching beside it .

"It's not a compromise," she looked up at him as she spoke, "compromise means you both want different things."

It was Ron's turn to be left speechless, and as Hermione took his hand to walk with him down to breakfast, she could have sworn that it was trembling slightly.


	2. Chapter 2: Crossing

Every bit of him ached.

He had known, even on that first night, that this might be an epically bad idea, but at the time he hadn't really cared. Not that he really did now.

That first night it had all been completely unselfish, he had only cared about what she needed, what she wanted. She'd asked him to stay-so he did-it was that simple. If she'd asked him to sleep outside on the sand, he'd have done it without hesitation. The fact that she'd seemed so content sleeping on his chest, tucked securely in the crook of his arm, began to fill that part of him that had been clawed out in Malfoy's cellar.

He had failed her, again, no matter how many times she tried to assure him otherwise, he knew he had, but _**it would be the last time.**_ He had chanted it like a mantra inside his head as she slept. He had whispered it into her hair in the moments before his exhaustion overtook his vigil. He had proclaimed it as boldly as his hammering heart would allow as they walked on the shore after dinner. With each day that passed he grew more and more bold, they both did: it was no longer strange to take her hand as they walked along, to feel her head on his shoulder as they sat on the sofa, to pull her close as they drifted off to sleep.

But, as brave as they had both been, there was still a final step that they were both unwilling to take. It didn't upset him, didn't even make him doubt her feelings for him. He knew why he hadn't been able to do the things his heart, and his body _if he were being completely honest_ , were screaming for him to do. He could not, would not, give her the chance to misunderstand his intentions. He knew her well enough- _hell, he knew her better than he knew anyone, even Harry_ to know that she was carrying more of a burden than she would ever let anyone know. The last thing he wanted was for her to think that he was only trying to comfort her, or worse, that he only wanted to be with her because he thought they wouldn't make it through this alive.

So he would wait. As long as he needed to. Gladly.

 _But_

The problem was...the more time that passed, the more looks that she gave him, the more touches they exchanged, the more nights he held her as she slept...the _more_ there was, the _more_ he wanted.

When he had lain in this bed, alone, months ago, he had prayed to Merlin ceaselessly that he could just find her, just see her, just know she was alive, just hold her, just once.

But he should have known...with Hermione there was no _just_ , it would always be _more_.

So now he was here, lying in the almost light of dawn with the woman than he loved more than his own life _literally, he had proven that to her as well as himself_

" _You can have me! Keep me!'_

In the end, his biggest fear, the one buried so deep that even Riddle's trinket couldn't suss it out, had begun to show itself in fifth year. He'd brushed it off at first-the dreams were just a rehash of the Department of Mysteries fiasco-usually with some twist: the brains grabbing Harry and Hermione; Death Eaters hurling Harry and Hermione toward the Veil, the two of them in all manner of mortal peril. The only common thread was that he couldn't save them...both.

He was sure other people had similar thoughts, in abstraction, but even at 16 he was painfully aware that his fear was in no way theoretical, there was a better than fair chance that one day-in a decreasingly distant future- he would have to make the one decision that he saw no possible way of making. And, because he was so sure that there was no satisfactory conclusion, he stuffed it far down to the very bottom of his growing list of dreads that were much too adult for one so young.

It had worked, more or less, for a while, but when the Felix had worn off and the awful reality of Bill's injuries and Dumbledore's death began to sink in, the old fears came clawing back, gaining in momentum until they were drowned out by that cursed locket. The first night he had spent in this bedroom, alone, when he'd left them, his dreams had been haunted again. This time, however, he couldn't save either of them. Every nightmare ended with them both dead in that bloody tent with him arriving too late.

Finding them again had been a miracle, and in the afterglow he had let himself believe that Merlin would never be so cruel as to give him such a choice. That all those times he had worried about it were probably pointless.

In a way he had been right. It had been blind of him to not see that his choice had been made. From the moment the Snatchers had grabbed them, he had one goal above all others, to make sure Hermione was safe. He hadn't had time to process it until much later, kneeling by her bedside as Fleur tended to her injuries. He supposed it should bother him more, knowing that, as much as he loved Harry, and as much as he knew he was the key to saving the wizarding world, that there was no world for him without her in it.

Would he have volunteered to take Harry's place as quickly as he had hers? Of course, but only if it could guarantee Hermione's safety as well. It should have been, perhaps, a more shocking revelation, but it didn't make him feel anything other than peaceful. He had finally unraveled the knot of his heart, layer after layer, until he could lay it out straight...he didn't just love her, hell, he had a big family full of people he loved, this was something else, something he didn't quite have a name for, maybe she would, she was always really good with fancy words.

Hermione made him feel things that he had never felt before. He knew it sounded right corny, like something out of one of those Celestina Warbeck songs his mum loved, but it was true. It was the indescribable simultaneous feeling of heaviness and lightness. As he lay there, he was conscious of both sensations: her body pressed into his, filing his heart to overflowing, her breath against the crook of his neck assuring him that he could in fact fly without a broom.

It was a delicious sort of torture, what she was doing to him, what he was doing to her, what they were doing to each other. He let his mind wander, pulling her ever so slightly closer, to what might happen if he just…let go. She wouldn't push him away if he dropped his head that ultimate last degree and brushed his lips against hers. She would open her eyes slowly, giving him _that_ look, and every bit of his self control would vanish as he deepened the kiss, rolling her over to…

 _Fuck...nope..better stop that…_

He didn't know a whole lot about romance, but he was pretty sure waking up to a massive stiffy wedged against your hip didn't qualify. More than once since they had begun sharing this bed he had been forced to reposition himself to avoid embarrassment. _Good morning, Hermione, oh, sorry, I was just thinking about snogging you into the mattress and...well...whattayasay? I know we haven't really talked about it but I love you and I may actually go mental if I don't kiss you._ He chuckled softly as he imagined her reaction. He cursed himself as he felt her stir, but any negative thought fled his mind when he found her eyes smiling back at him.

"Hi," her voice was so soft that if he hadn't been looking at her, he wouldn't have been sure he heard her.

"Hi...I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Oh, not at all...did you sleep?"

"Yeah."

"Enough?"

"Um-hmm," he wasn't exactly sure what he was agreeing to, he was currently quite lost in trying to decide if she was more beautiful when she was about to go to sleep, or when she just woke up.

"Good," she snuggled in to him, "do you mind if we stay put for a bit? I think it's still rather early."

"We can stay as long as you like...doesn't matter if it's early or not."

"As long as I like?"

 _Dear sweet Merlin! She had to know what it did to him when she said things like that!_

"Yep. Not one minute before, and not one minute after...I'll barricade the door if I have to so no one disturbs us."

"Better make it a strong one, you know how ruthless Fleur can be when it's time for breakfast."

"I guess all the Weasley brothers have thing for strong women."

He had expected her to laugh, or roll her eyes, or maybe even swat him for such a cheeky comment, but instead she looked him very earnestly, "Really?"

He wasn't exactly sure, was she questioning the fact the she was strong or that he was madly in love with her? Because honestly, he couldn't see how she could doubt either point. As fun as the banter and the flirting were, he needed her to _know_ that what he said was true.

"Do you seriously not know?" He removed his hand from her waist, bringing it to her cheek.

"Yes, I know...I guess..we haven't really talked about it, but when we are like this, it seems so simple, but then I am so used to second guessing," she sighed, searching for the words.

"I understand...It's a hard habit to break."

"I am trying...and you are making it easier that it has ever been," the color rose slightly in her cheeks, but she didn't look away, "I hope I am doing the same for you."

He nodded at her, a bit too overcome to speak for the moment, because the most wonderful part of all this was that all of the things that he thought he would never be able to tell her, not only _could_ he, but she seemed to want to tell him the same things. _All this time_.

"You are, but sometimes," it was easier for him, but still not _that easy._

"It just seems too good to be true?"

"Yeah."

"And you think, what if I say too much?"

"What if I say too little?"

"What if," but whatever words were coming after that were trapped as Ron pressed his lips to hers. All the "what ifs" and second guesses were snapped out like boggarts by a flurry of gentle kisses.

They sighed into each other, kisses and hands growing delicately bolder. As much as he had imagined this moment, played it over and over in his mind, a million scenarios of varying believability, the reality was infinitely better. She was really here, kissing him back, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. _How had he ever held out this long? How had he lived this many years without...Bloody Hell! Her tongue! Was it possible for your heart to burst from just a kiss?_ Although he already knew, with Hermione it was never "just" anything.

If he thought he was going to go mental from _wanting_ to kiss her, that was nothing compared to how _actually_ kissing her was going to affect him. _Speaking of affecting, you better slow down before you show her more of the Weasley charm than she's ready for._ Slowly, Ron pulled back just enough to rest his forehead on hers, smiling as he realized that they were both panting slightly.

"Sorry...you were...saying?"

She _did_ roll her eyes at him then, laughing as he pulled her into a tight hug. It was a relief to him that despite this _new_ part of their relationship, the foundations were still the same. That they were still the Ron and Hermione that had, despite all their best efforts at mucking it up, come to love each other in every possible way. He realized that he had been afraid of losing that first love _the non-kissing love_ , it was one of the reasons he had been so hesitant to admit his true feelings not only to her, but to himself as well.

He thought, for months, _years if he were being honest_ , that kissing her would be crossing some highly guarded border into a strange land, but he was amazed at how natural it all felt. His feelings hadn't magically changed, he didn't love her more, or even in a different way, he wasn't in a strange land at all, he was home.


End file.
